Poems Primarily Narrative (or not)

THE TALE OF EDWARD BROWN

A rugby match of youthful lads

had commandeered the college green

and showing boundless energy

brought cheers from those who watched the scene.

Through determined minds the game did flow,

advantage shifting with every throw.

From a window in his office high, the barrister

emitted a mighty sigh and turned away

his distracted eye, back bent with

concentration now intent upon a document,

that lay accusing

and once again resumed his musing.

An office clerk named Edward Brown,

cast with fatally striking down

a fellow member of the workplace, who some,

too eager to accuse, declined to say so to his face.

Paradoxically, to those aware, both victim and accused

did share, beyond their mutual occupation,

a long, communal love affair.

The facts, as stated, were false he knew

and the couple he had long admired;

a loyal pair through love inspired,

needed proof that his belief was true.

Sir Robert Spence, with anger mounting,

poured through lies of false accounting,

seeking that grain of truth he knew

would reveal the answer's subtle clue.

The tale they told was vile and ugly,

of crimes committed; of moral shame

attaching like a hungry leech,

with blind ambition for sole, self gain,

and the slandering of a family name.

'Not on my watch', he spake aloud,

and left his office, head held proud.

The deed was one of fraud and murder

and those accusing said they'd heard her

cry out, ere death's blow took her down,

quite clearly, the name of Edward Brown.

And when at his home he was arrested,

his innocence in vain protested

in spite of how he loved the maid,

his fate was sealed, in jail he stayed

The victim's name was Mary Bender,

who served the office that did render

financial aid to students lacking

sufficient funds and needed backing.

It was here, uncovered quite by chance,

the slyly skewed accounting dance of figures